A Promise
by xXLiquidSugarXx
Summary: MovieBased! What happens between Gandalf and Pippin's heart to heart in Minas Tirith and finding Merry on Pelennor Fields? My attempt at filling in the time jump. Some hurt, some comfort and fluff abound


_**Hello there! This is my first ever LOTR fanfiction, which is surprising, given that I've been in love with the series since I was seven and I saw the Fellowship of the Ring for the first time. Pippin has always been my favorite character because of the fact that he mucks things up all the time. He gets into trouble, but the trouble helps him grow as a character. In fact, I firmly believe it's his character who develops the most over the series. I easily relate to the little guy more than anyone else in the series. As such, I decided to make this after having a LOTR marathon with me pals. As such, yes, this will be movie based, as I have seen the movies way more times than I've read the books.**_

The grey skies yielded no shadows to fall on the white streets of the cities, though the dark evil of Mordor climbed ever higher through Gondor's levels. The majestic city was steadily being destroyed from the catapults outside and the orcs within her walls. Pippin looked up at the grey skies in despair. The Fifth Gate would not hold for much longer, nor would the few men holding it. Cries still came from the lower levels, filled with pain and fear as Sauron's army slaughtered all whom remained in the overtaken parts of the city. The screams sent shivers up the young hobbit's spine. Never had Pippin thought that he would take part in a true battle, nor did he think that war would be as horrendous as this. Children he had seen, even played with were being killed in the lower town.

"I didn't think it would end this way," said the small hobbit, unknowingly voicing his thoughts aloud to the great wizard sitting with him. Pippin had always entertained the idea of growing old in the green of the Shire, Merry at his side, and his death swift and comfortable in the depths of his own hole.

"End?" said Gandalf, capturing Pippin's attention. "No my dear hobbit, death is just another path, one which we all must take."

Gandalf's words of comfort touched Pippin, though he desperately wished himself away from this horrid place, where the stink of death and battle couldn't touch him. He wished himself back in the Shire, up to his old antics with Merry and getting into the worst sort of trouble. After all, he would quickly be killed when the Fifth Gate was breached. He was not courageous like Merry, all he could do was swing his short sword –no longer than Aragorn's dagger- until his unadvantageous height betrayed him and he was speared on an orc sword. A single tear rolled down his small cheek and dripped onto his tunic. The last tears of Peregrin Took, the most foolish of hobbits.

The Fifth Gate was smashed with an almighty bang. Orcs ripped what shreds of wood remained. Several soldiers held bows, and used them to try and thin the ever growing numbers of the enemy breaching the gates. Pippin grasped his small sword and looked up at Gandalf for encouragement. The wizard nodded t his gaze and fixed his own broadsword firmly in his ancient hand.

"Do not fear, Peregrin Took. If we die here, we go on to a greener country, where rivers flow pure and the machine of war dares not to tread. Fear not, for there are friends waiting there for our arrival, with the finest food and drink a hobbit could ever imagine. Fear not, Peregrin Took, for if we die today, we die for the freedom of Middle Earth, and we die together with our comrades. Fear not, for you shall not face your next adventure alone," Gandalf clapped a comforting hand on Pippin's shaking shoulder, before sweeping up to meet the tide of evil in a blur of white, blade already flashing in a sweeping circle. With a cry, Pippin followed the wizard into the fray, and to whatever end may befall them.

Ducking and dodging blows from the snarling orcs it was easy for Pippin to lose his bearings. Left and right became indistinguishable and so did the enemies from the Gondorian knights. Pippin jabbed his sword at anything orc-like, crying out with the horror of battle and the effort of staying alive. A swift breeze of air beside his ear told the hobbit that he was very close to having his head removed from his shoulders. Turning quickly, he dug his short sword below the orc's filthy black armor and into his stomach. The beast roared and slashed as he fell. The iron fist caught Pippin's shoulder but he paid it no heed as he was determined to stay alive. How disappointed would Merry be if his Pippin couldn't defeat a few orcs. How disappointed would Boromir be if he knew the hours he spent training the hobbits were wasted. No, Pippin was determined that he would not end this day. With that he slashed at another orc, clambering over the bodies that littered the stone road and stained its white stones black and red. Harder and harder did Pippin fight, eventually making his way into a place beside Gandalf. Together they fought, Gandalf with apparent ease and Pippin with every fiber of his small being. The hobbit danced beneath the sights of his enemies and killed enemies mercilessly. Many times was he cut by an orc's falling blade, and many times he did not feel it as his attention had already been captured by another member of Sauron's army. Suddenly there was a hideous roar and a large troll came bursting out of the remnants of the Fifth Gate. It sniffed with it's enlarged nostrils that barely protruded out of a grey, lumpy head. Broken, yellowed teeth were revealed again as it roared, spittle flying from it's misshapen mouth. Pippin froze, along with many of the men as it came stumbling towards them with a massive spiked club. Faintly in the distance a familiar horn rang out, but Pippin's mind was on the monstrous creature in front of him. The troll took a step forward swinging his mace. Both men and orcs unfortunate to be nearby were swept up by the large spikes, blood dripping down the handle of the weapon. Bodies were flung into the open air over the side of the short wall and down into the fires of the lower town. Onwards it came, and still Pippin could not move. He heard Gandalf's shout before the troll swung again. The man beside him took the brunt of the troll's blow, but the small hobbit was tossed with the swing into the solid stone wall of the buildings beside him. He hit the wall with a sickening crash and tried to blink the blackness out of his eyes, but the darkness grew stronger instead of lessening. With barely any breath in his body Pippin's world disappeared and his awareness faded into the overtaking black.

A large warm hand shook his shoulder not unkindly. Blinking, Pippin looked up into the blurred visage of his most favorite wizard.

"G-Gandalf?" his voice was barely a whisper and cracked as he spoke. The wizard put a finger to his lips to shush him and helped the hobbit sit up, propping him against the dirty stone wall behind. The whole area was a sight of complete carnage. Hewn bodies lay like a carpet on the stone and rivers of red and black flowed down the cobbled streets. Pain blossomed in Pippin's side and it did not go unnoticed by the White Wizard.

"What kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Peregrin Took?" asked Gandalf with surprising gentleness as he began to remove the hobbit's armor.

His hands were batted away by Pippin's small ones. The hobbit's memory of the battle coming back and one point stood out for him in particular.

"The horn," Pippin whispered before Gandalf raised a flask of water to his lips, "The horn of Rohan. I heard it. Rohan means Merry. Merry has to be here. Where is he Gandalf? Where is Merry?"

The wizard was surprised when the hobbit whom he had thought dead less than ten minutes ago jumped to his hairy feet and scampered away down the slick streets. With a smile he turned and began to help the wounded to the Houses of Healing. Merry had always been Pippin's best remedy anyways.

Night had fallen, and Pippin wandered Pelennor Fields with Merry's cloak wrapped around him, breathing in his cousin's comforting scent. His own hurts were beginning to show, but still the young hobbit did not rest. His Merry had to be out there somewhere. Pippin had been a wreck when he had found Strider, Legolas, and Gimli and none of them could provide him with an answer as to where his dear cousin could be. The Field was seemingly endless, as were the numbers of the dead he came across. Massive olephants littered the battlefield, bigger than some of the hills in the shire, and even though they were long dead Pippin walked by them warily. It was by one of these massive creatures he felt a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He paused and looked around for any sign of his cousin. Any sight of his gingery hair or a small hand or foot. There! Beneath a man in a strange outfit he had never seen before a small foot poked out. Hurrying to the fallen man he rolled him off, revealing Merry blinking below. Pippin cried in happiness as he kneeled beside his still-alive Merry.

"Are you going to leave me, Pippin?" said Merry in a tired whisper.

"No," Pippin said with tenderness in reply, horrified that Merry would even presume that he would, "I'm going to take care of you."

Quickly he removed Merry's cloak and covered the older hobbit in the warm garment. Beneath his hands Merry shivered and shook with more than the cold of the night air. Upon feeling Merry's too cold forehead Pippin frowned. There was something not right with Merry, though Pippin could find little evidence of battle wounds. Making his decision, Pippin secured the cloak around Merry and hefted his cousin upright. Pippin's ribs exploded with pain from where they had been slammed into the wall and the shifting of his armor caused a cut or two to open and hot sticky blood began its course down his back once more. The movement proved to be too much for Merry and his cousin's eyes rolled back and all his weight was put on Pippin. The younger hobbit staggered sideways with the unexpected pressure, stars dancing in his own eyes, but he blinked them away. Pippin readjusted his grip on Merry and began the long trek through the battlefield towards Minas Tirith. He promised Merry he'd take care of him, and that was a promise Peregrin Took intended to keep.

The walk was long and wearing on Pippin. The stars were the only light to guide him to the distant fires of Minas Tirith. Blood still trickled down his back and his side ached something furious. He desperately hoped someone would come along to help him with Merry, though he knew he would never give up his hold on his cousin. Pippin stumbled over a sword not ten yards from the great gates of the white city and fell hard, dropping Merry on his way down. The world was once again filled with pain and Pippin was having a hard time blinking the encroaching oblivion away.

A shout rose in the distance.

Pippin instinctively reached for Merry's hand, clutching at his cousin and hoping that whomever had shouted was friendly, for he found he no longer had the strength to stand. The blackness drew ever closer. Large hands felt his small body, finding all the hurts and making him whimper, but this time he let them remove the armor. This time he had his Merry with him, and he would keep his promise. He would take care of him. Pippin just needed to be cared for a little first, that's all.


End file.
